


Actually, Love

by revolutionsoftheheart



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 08:29:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5450084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionsoftheheart/pseuds/revolutionsoftheheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the prompt: "i know we hate each other but it's christmas eve and your flight was cancelled please come inside." Modern AU. Outlaw Queen. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Actually, Love

Robin is not a huge winter enthusiast.

He doesn't  _mind_  it. During his undergrad in Boston, he'd learned to appreciate a little snow here and there. He'd particularly enjoyed the weekend mornings spent in bed, watching the flurries dance on the other side of his window. Huddled in the warmth of his apartment, his love pressed to his front as they allowed themselves a rare lie-in, Robin had been content. Their lives were a whirlwind, much like the one outside, but they had each other, winters be damned.

Another favourite of his was watching the white duvet cover the streets as the days closed in on Christmas. There was something about snow and Christmas decorations that made everybody a little more cheerful, including him.

So, yes, he'd learned to even love snow, for a while. Sometimes.

But not today.

Today, he's not a fan of the white substance falling from the sky.

The onslaught hasn't stopped since he left the hotel that morning. Three feet of snow are piled up on the ground and more is to come if the forecast is to be believed. Visibility is reduced, making it nearly impossible to drive or even walk outside without squinting. Robin has been told he's lucky to have found a taxi at all. (He thanks his lucky stars for that one, even though he'd have largely preferred not having to call  _her_.)

So no, Robin isn't a fan of winter in these circumstances.

Snow assails him as he steps out of the taxicab, and he curses under his breath, damning Mother Nature for this  _small_  snowstorm. He pulls out his luggage and shuts the door, waving his thanks to the driver one last time. It's not until the car has disappeared behind the snowy curtains that Robin turns to face the small suburban house in front of which they'd stopped.

Dread crawls up his throat and he can feel its claws digging into his skin. The sensation folds itself around his spine and settles there as he contemplates the walk up the driveway and to her door – too short, not nearly enough time to mentally prepare himself to seeing  _her_  again.

Years wouldn't be.

Snow is everywhere. At least fifteen inches of it cover the path to her door. The blizzard had made shoveling impossible. By the time you were done, more snow covered the ground than when you started – or so the people on the radio had said on his drive here. Robin had spent his day at the airport; he hadn't known how bad the conditions were until he stepped out.

He knows she would have given it a try, though, at least once, probably in the early hours of the storm. She'd have attempted to prove to nature that it couldn't win over her. He can picture her, wrapped up in warm clothing, shovel in hand, lifting snow, angrily throwing it over the already high snow bank by the side of her house. She used to have quite the temper, and he doubted the years spent apart had tamed her character.

Robin expels air out of his lungs, watches the vapour of his breath being carried away the wind, and resigns himself to coming face to face with those feisty dark eyes again.

He had never thought he'd visit the place again, certainly not after how they left things. She'd made it quite clear she didn't want anything to do with him, and he'd been more than happy to delete her from his contacts. (Not from his memory, though. Never that. He's failed miserably at forgetting her, and it's why he's here. Why he's able to be here. Because he knows those digits by heart.)

He's surprised she hasn't moved; he'd thought she'd want to be rid of every memory of him.

After all, that's what he had to do for her. Robin had flown to another  _country_ , hoping the distance of an ocean would be enough.

It hadn't been.

This is a terrible idea.

He shouldn't be here. They're not ready.  _He's_  not ready. He can't just show up on her doorstep unannounced and expect her to take him in. (He isn't unannounced; he'd called and she'd accepted, but one phone call doesn't erase years of arguments. How is he supposed to just sleep on her couch and pretend nothing happened?)

And, of course, it had to be  _today_.

Of all 365 days in the calendar year, it had to be Christmas Eve _._

He's probably the last person she wants to spend the night with –  _she_ 's the last person  _he_  wants to spend the night with – but this meteorological depression is supposed to last a few days, and his plane is not the only one that didn't take off. Robin had been going stir crazy at the airport, wandering amongst the hundred lost souls stranded in Boston for the Holidays. With less seats available than people in need of them, his chances of getting a flight out the city before the New Year were slim.

So, here he is.

On  _her_  porch.

On December 24.

Apprehension snakes through his veins as he contemplates the last remaining barrier between his shivering self and central heating. His fist halts before making contact with the door, dropping back to his side with a slump of his shoulders. Knocking requires nerve he does not possess.

He debates going back. He could call her, tell her his plans have changed – Robin doubts she'd complain – but the option is robbed from him by his inability to make a timely decision. The door cracks open, and he's still rooted to the exact same spot. (He shouldn't be surprised that she's been watching for his arrival from her window. A good thing, he thinks, as he's starting to lose all sensation in his toes.)

She stands in the small opening, in sweatpants, a tee, and long wool cardigan. Her hair is down, longer than she had it when he left, but shorter than when they met. She wears a frown on her face, arms crossed in front of her, one foot behind the door, holding it ajar, preventing the wind from blowing it open. Robin recalls a time where the simple sight of him would lift the corners of her mouth back up, but those days are long gone now, as is everything they shared.

He deserves the glare.

(He's missed that glare.)

Dark eyes peruse him from head to toe, sending a chill down his spine even faster that the weather had. It chases away every grateful opening speech Robin had thought of on the way here, making him look quite the fool when he opens his mouth and comes up blank. Great rhetoric has always been her strong suit.

"Were you even going to knock?" she asks when he fails to speak first, a mockery he entirely deserves.

He bows his head slightly and greets with a lopsided smile, "Regina."

"Robin," she replies, with politeness but no warmth, though he spies a hint of mischief in that lovely dark gaze.

The frigid wind licks at his face, creeping under his clothes despite the many layers he's wearing. Robin rubs his arms more vigorously, heels tapping against the ground, but his attempts to stave off the cold do not faze Regina, who studies him with intent eyes.

"You haven't changed," he offers, to break the abrasive silence.

The only reaction he gets from her is an eye roll as she clamps her feet in the doorway, theatrically blocking his access to the oh-so-desired warmth of her house. She peers up at him, satisfied smirk anchored in place, but it's he who feels small despite the four inches he has on her, forced to wait until she allows him entry.

Why did he ever think it would be as easy as knocking on her door? (Though, even that he'd technically blown.)

Wrapping her cardigan around her middle, Regina leans casually against the door frame and sneers, "Just how long did you stand there doing nothing before I opened the door?"

"Long enough to not feel my arse anymore," Robin grouches, swearing under his breath as a strong gust of wind sneaks ice cold air under his jacket.

She smirks.

Damn her.

Indifferent to the way his whole body has started trembling – if anything, she looks determined to torture him a while longer – Regina lifts her chin and asks, "Why me?"

"I don't exactly have friends in this town anymore," he grumbles between chattering teeth.

She quirks a brow, regards him with contempt. "And whose fault is that?" she questions simply, further nettling him.

Robin's blood boils despite the low temperature.

So, they're not friends – she's established that quite clearly – but, surely, a little human decency is not beyond their abilities.

"Regina, if you didn't want me to come, why agree to this!?" he exclaims, her vindictive need to have him come all the way to her house in a blizzard, only to forbid him entry, eluding his understanding. "You could just have said no! I'd have happily gone back to the hotel."

(That last part is a half-truth. His hotel was on the other side of the city and no taxi driver had wanted to go that far in the current weather conditions.

Regina didn't need to be privy to that information.)

Throughout his short tirade, Regina retains her poise. She's silent when he finishes, and Robin thinks this is it. She's going to close the door in his face and leave him to fend for himself in the harsh, inhospitable temperatures.

He's ready to admit defeat when she steps aside, opening the door wider.

Needing no further encouragement, Robin hurries inside before she changes her mind.

Despite her quick reflex to close the door as soon as he's in, a rush of snow follows him inside, dusting the carpet with white. Catching his reflection in the mirrored closet doors, Robin realizes he's not faring much better, a thin layer of snow covering his head, shoulders and back, the green material of his coat only visible where he's moved and the snowcoat has cracked open. What a sight he makes.

Regina rounds him to stand in the doorway leading inside the house, as far away from the cold as possible without leaving the lobby.

Robin shakes off most of the snow to his feet before shedding his coat, and she takes advantage of the rusting noise it makes to murmur, "No one should be alone on Christmas Eve," probably hoping her words will escape his notice.

They don't.

Slightly dumbfounded by what she's just said, Robin lands an inquiring gaze on her, much to her displeasure.

She tries to shrug off the attention, straightens her spine and squares her shoulders, hands finding the pockets of her sweater to hide any fidgety habits that would betray her apparent coolness. "You asked me why I said yes," she nonchalantly explains. "I simply answered that no one should be alone on Christmas…" She pauses before adding, "even you," and the detached front she's putting up would probably work on someone else, but not him. They've known each other too long.

Robin  _ahhs_  and walks to the closet, reaching for the hanger on the far right – it's a habit; that side used to be his – happy to find it empty. It seems some things don't change.

Turning on his heels, he locks eyes with her again, and teases, "So, it's just my luck  _you_  happen to be free to take care of me tonight?"

Her head dips down, self-consciously tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

(He's always thought this length suited her. He'd loved the short style, too, but this reminds him of when they first met and the countless moments he's spent running his fingers through those dark tresses, kissing every inch of that skin.)

She shrugs. "I guess it's fate."

Timid eyes flick back up to meet his, and the spark is instantaneous. A fleeting connection. A gift to be cherished amidst the resentment of the last seven years.

"Eggnog?" she proposes quickly, before evading entanglements of something that doesn't exist becomes impossible. "I got some ready after you called."

"Sure," he answers, thankful himself for the change in conversation.

With a nod, Regina leaves him alone, disappearing towards the back of the house.

Robin lingers near the door. He takes his sweet time removing his boots, placing them near the wall next to hers, the way he knows she likes. The familiarity of the gesture tugs at his heart. How many times had he come home to her just like this, starved for contact after a mere eight hours apart? Time has forged a chasm between them, but rehearsed patterns are hard to forget.

Snow is slowly melting off his suitcase, creating a small puddle on the floor. He throws his scarf on the water to absorb most of it, making a mental note to come by later and clean it up properly. Regina wouldn't appreciate if he made a mess of her house.

He needs to call Marian, let her know what's happening – probably should take care of that before heading inside. (He's also postponing the inevitable. Stepping into Regina's home makes this insane decision to spend Christmas Eve with his ex incredibly  _real_ , and he still hasn't fully processed how his brain ever considered this to be a feasible plan.)

He reaches into his pocket for his phone, thumbs unlocking the screen and tapping the familiar number in one quick motion.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Marian finally picks up in the middle of the fourth tone, grunting his name in a voice groggy from sleep.

Robin frowns and glances at his watch, before bringing a palm to his face in horror. "Marian, I'm so sorry. I forgot about the time difference."

"T's fine," she slurs, then yawns, taking a moment before resuming, "My parents left not too long ago. I just got in bed." He can hear her shuffle around, probably sitting up to help herself awake. "Are you at the airport?"

He opens his mouth to give her an answer but hesitates. What sort of ideas could Marian get from him spending the night at his ex's? Not that she'd particularly care. They're all adults. But Robin himself isn't sure of the meaning behind this little reunion.

His gaze strays towards the doorway, ears stretching to catch the noises coming from the kitchen. Despite the seeming domesticity of their current encounter, he doubts Regina's feelings for him have changed. She'd been his first – and only other – long-term relationship beside Marian. The possibility that he'd see her again after the way they ended things had never even crossed his mind, but, of course, of all cities, he had to get stuck in  _Boston_ , where she still lives.

Surely one night wouldn't be enough to rekindle a fire that had turned to ashes a long time ago.

"Robin?" Marian prompts on the other end of the line, voice both concerned and slightly annoyed by his lengthy silence.

He lets out a loaded breath, tearing his eyes away from empty hallway. "Not... exactly," he reveals, wishing for a step-by-step guide to spending Christmas Eve with his ex.

"Robin, it's nearly two in the morning. Don't make me guess," she tells him, clearly irritated by his dawdling.

"I'm at Regina's," he tells her finally, and he can picture her eyebrows knitting in confusion as she tries to recall the familiar name.

When she does, she immediately pries, "And why are you at Regina's?" now fully awake and curious. Just what he'd wanted to avoid.

"All flights out of Boston have been cancelled due to the blizzard," Robin explains, hoping honesty will avoid him further questioning. It's not like he's planned this. "I don't know when I'll be able to get another flight out."

Marian listens and  _ohs_ , as the situation he's found himself in dawns upon her. He knows her shoulders have just dropped, and she's thinking of tomorrow, of  _Christmas_ , running through her head how she's going to make it work with this unpredictable change of plans.

It doesn't last long, though, because she's soon coming back to, "Regina?" with an inquisitive edge to her tone that leads the conversation right back in the direction Robin had hoped to stay away from.

"Marian, you know as well as I do that we're over," he's quick to answer. "The woman hates me."

"And yet she's welcomed you into her home," Marian points out. "On Christmas Eve."

She's right, of course, but Robin doubts Regina's intentions are pure.

He shrugs. "It's probably pity," he guesses, "or a way to start a new argument." His free hand dives into his pocket as he leans back against the wall, trying to relieve the tension that has settled in his back. "It  _has_  been a while since our last one," he jokes, and the chuckle it draws from the woman on the other end of the line is a blessing.

Whatever he did in a previous life to deserve her, Robin is eternally thankful for it.

"Alright," she accepts, then reminds him, "I'm just looking out for your well-being." A yawn surprises her – he should probably hang up, let her get some sleep – but she continues, "John told me what you were like when you first came back to London."

There's a warning he knows well in her voice – definitely John's – and he smiles. "And how would my best friend find out exactly? Unless you plan on telling him?" She laughs and assures him that  _no, she won't tell John_. "Good," Robin says, pleased with her complicity. "Then I'm out of here as soon as I can catch a flight."

She hums her approval, and yawns again.

"You should sleep," he tells her quietly. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"T's fine." He hears her settle back comfortably against the pillows, ready to head back to oblivion. "At least I'll know what to tell Roland in the morning when you fail to show up."

"I'll call as soon as I'm up."

"You better," Marian warns, sweetly, an adorable drowsy quaver lacing her voice. There's no need for a real threat, though. Nothing could stop Robin from talking to his son on Christmas morning.

He needlessly reminds her, "Tell Roland I love him."

"Of course," she mumbles, already half asleep.

They say their goodnights quickly, setting up a time for a video call the following day, and then, he truly lets her go, back to the well-deserved sleep he'd unwittingly interrupted.

A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as he brings the phone down, staring longingly at the picture of Roland on his home screen. As his eyes study every feature of the boy's face as if they didn't already know them by heart, a soft sigh slips from his throat.

So much for spending Christmas with his son.

Instead, he gets to spend it with a walking reminder of his biggest mistake.  _Joy to the world._

Still, Robin hopes the spirit of the season will allow them to enjoy a friendly evening. They're both adults; hopefully they can cohabit until he gets a plane out.

Or not.

When he veers around, the temporary reprieve his phone call allowed him comes to an abrupt end. Standing in front of him in the doorway is Regina, two matching Christmas mugs in hand: red with a candy cane, with names etched onto the ceramic. One is hers; the other is some unknown man called Henry. The smell of eggnog fills the air, warm and inviting, quite unlike the scowl presently marring her lovely features.

Robin presses his lips together and bites his tongue, gulping down the excess of saliva. "How long have you been standing there?"

She shoves a mug – the Henry one – rather briskly into his hands. "Long enough."

She looks pissed.

He sighs, and points out, "It was a private conversation."

Regina shrugs, "Then you shouldn't be having it in my house," and stomps away, leaving him to follow or spend the rest of his evening alone in the foyer.

Phone dropped back in his pocket, Robin rubs a hand over his face, cursing his brilliant idea to call his ex. Why did he even imagine this little reunion going well? He takes a large swallow of eggnog –  _spiked_  eggnog, apparently, she'd forgotten to inform him of that – and the rum burns down his throat, slightly stifling but more than welcome.

They'll need something strong to get through the next few hours.

He brings the mug to his lips a second time, downs more of the warm beverage, until half of it is gone. Only then does he step into the house.

It's changed from what he remembers. She's reorganized the furniture, redecorated. It's sharper now, much more modern. A dark leather couch faces the television, across from a matching armchair, glass coffee table in the middle, dark shelves placed against the wall.

She'd put up a tree in the corner of the living room, a few other ornaments here and there on the wall, in the bookshelves, but the house is mostly bare. It's decorated for the occasion, but notfestive, not like he recalls their Christmases to be. He wonders why that is, what kind of life she's living now – now that's he's gone – but knows it's not his place to ask.

His feet carry him away from the living room and into the kitchen, where he finds Regina pouring herself more of the eggnog she'd prepared.

She doesn't look at him when he enters, busying herself with trivial tasks: rinsing dishes, filling the dishwasher, washing the already pristine counter. Twice. She really hasn't changed. She'd glared at him when he said it at the door, but it's true. She's a beautiful woman, who has no idea what kind of impact she has on men – on him, especially. Despite the baggy pants and long cardigan hiding the curves that had driven his younger self crazy, Robin lets his eyes roam over her body, memories filling in what her clothes fail to give away.

Regina must feel his gaze on her – she  _must_  – but makes no move to turn around. She rummages through cupboards, looks for nothing specific. Anything to not spare a look at him.

He clears his throat, setting his mug on the counter, and tells her, "I'm sorry I disrupted your evening."

Her head turns, dark eyes meeting blue ones, but she remains quiet, grabs her mug, and brushes past him on her way out of the room.

Robin sighs.

Avoidance is better than fight, he supposes, but it's still not much of a pastime.

This evening is off to a terrible start, and perhaps he ought to put an end to it before bitterness taints what's left of Christmas. His plans for the holidays have been ruined from the moment his morning flight was cancelled, but that doesn't mean he has to drag Regina down with him. Her night, albeit lonely in appearance and mood, still stands a chance at being salvaged with his departure.

He finishes his eggnog first – letting the drink go to waste would be unforgivable – and makes his way to the living room, mind set on leaving.

He comes to a stop just as he crosses the threshold, the sight of Regina nestled comfortably in the crook of the sofa making his heart stutter as well as his feet. A Christmas blanket covers her legs, mug resting on her lap, and she's absorbed in the movie playing on the screen as if she's seeing it for the first time. Robin's mouth tilts into a smile as he recognizes Love Actually, and for a moment the room shifts. The couch and TV are facing the other way, and he's assailed by ghosts of Christmases past, countless holiday evenings spent in this very living room, watching and rewatching or purposely  _not watching_ this one movie, the same woman currently not speaking to him curled up against his side.

It makes him want to stay.

All the more reason to go.

"I'll get a hotel room, Regina," he announces as he finally enters the room, already making his way towards the front entrance. "I shouldn't have come here."

He doesn't even make it three steps into his escape before she speaks.

"Sit," she orders, eyes still riveted to the screen. Her words succeed in halting him mid-step, and he glances her way as she continues, "They said the storm was getting worse while you were on the phone. They're recommending staying inside. No cab will come and to pick you up in this weather." She waves a hand towards the armchair across from her, "So, sit," and throws a look in his direction to make sure he's heard her before returning her attention to the television.

Seeing no other available option, Robin drags himself to the chair in question, flopping down on the cushions and resigning himself to an evening of awkward silences and achingly sweet memories.

They watch in silence as the stories of Mark and Juliet, David and Natalie and all the others evolve on the screen, full of their ups and downs, definitions of love in all its facets. Robin's eyes can't help but drift to his right halfway through, seeking that lost connection, the way he used to drop a kiss to her temple or weave his fingers through her hair as they watched their favourite scenes, content to bask in their own love story.

But those days are long gone now, ripped at the seams by arguments and fights that saw no happy ending to their story.

Just as Sam foolishly runs through the airport to confess his love, as kids who don't know better ought to do, the television goes dark and the background noise of the refrigerator comes to a stop. The lights flicker once, twice, then turn off, plunging Robin and Regina in sudden and complete darkness.

"Great," the latter grouses, then mutters under her breath, "Because this evening wasn't awful enough." She reaches for her phone, turning on the integrated flashlight.

Robin follows her lead on that one, unlocking his phone and lighting up their surroundings.

Shadows dance around them every time their hands move. The wind roars outside, thumping against the side of the house and making the walls tremble. In the eerie silence of the room, every squeak, crack, and thud is louder, stronger, creating an atmosphere better suited for a night spent trick-or-treating than waiting for Santa.

Robin feels guilty.

Between him turning up at her doorstep and this sudden power outage, Regina's evening had been completely turned upside down, her plans thrown carelessly out the window and into the storm. She'd even missed her favourite scene of the movie, the one scene that gets to her without fail, no matter how many times she's watched it: Joanna showing up and kissing Sam's cheek after he was dragged away by security, father and son hugging, sharing together the success of Sam's secret mission.

She's upset, and rightfully so, and he's powerless to do anything.

He hates it – wishes he hadn't lost the right to hug her.

"I'm really sorry, Regina," he tells her instead. It was, after all, his phone call that had started it all. Not for the first time tonight, Robin feels like he should have stayed at the airport. It would have at least saved her the trouble of dealing with him.

"Stop apologizing," she snaps, looking directly at him for the first time since she forced him to sit down. "It's driving me crazy. Unless you deliberately cut the electricity on your way here, this is notyour fault." And then, as if sensing he might protest – he was going to – she adds, "I'll get candles," and gets up before he has a chance to reply.

Robin stumbles after her. His "I'll give you a hand," is met with a short mumble, but she welcomes his help nonetheless.

Minutes later, they have candles set up around the living room, flashlights turned off and used for travel only, in order to conserve their phone batteries. Their mugs have been refilled with what was left of the eggnog, cooler but still warm enough to drink.

They've moved to the floor, on cushions and blankets, the small amount of light in the room requiring they sit closer. Touching is out of the question, but their knees have brushed more than once as they settled down, proximity raising goose bumps on Robin's skin that have nothing to do with the outside temperature.

Books are set on the coffee table, his and hers. They remain closed as Regina's fingers fiddle with the handle of her mug, Robin's with his phone, silence stretched thin between them.

To think they once believed they could make this – them – last.

"How's your son?" Her shy question surprises him, quiet and a little clumsy. "Roland, right?"

Their eyes meet as she angles her head towards him, nipping nervously at her bottom lip. Gaze lost in the depth of hers, Robin has a hard time stopping the hopes that surges through his veins as he answers, "Roland, yes."

Perhaps he spoke too soon. Maybe the evening isn't lost yet.

"He's great," Robin adds when she sits back and reaches for her mug, breaking eye contact. "Growing too fast, if you ask me, but that's the nightmare of every parent."

"How old is he now?"

"Five going on twenty," he half-jokes, and Regina smiles – actually, genuinely smiles at that.

God, he's missed that smile.

After a short silence, she murmurs, "You must miss him tonight."

Robin's chin dips, and he confesses, "Terribly. But I should be able to see him and talk to him tomorrow if the power comes back."

"Let's hope it does," Regina says, crossing her fingers and raising her mug to her lips.

"Do you want to see a picture?"

His eagerness makes her chuckle, but she nods, setting her cup down and scooting closer, looking over his shoulder as he starts searching through his phone for his favourites. He tries to pay no mind to the knee that presses gently into his thigh as she leans over, but the slim fingers that brush against his when he passes her the phone are harder to ignore. Although the contact is brief, it sends a small jolt of desire through his body, making Robin long for her hands in other places.

It's not their first hushed tones and candlelight evening. The exact same thing had happened when they lost power during a date, once, and had to improvise. They'd had little care for the lack of lighting, had made a blanket fort and spent all night making love in the dark, pleasing every other sense they possessed.

It's one of his most treasured memories of their time together, one that makes him wish things had turned out differently for them.

He wonders if she remembers, too.

Robin shakes the thought away, goes back to studying Regina's face as she scrolls through pictures of Roland. She has lit up, beaming brighter with every swipe of her finger.

"Robin, he's beautiful."

She peers up at him from underneath long lashes, flashing him a smile that has fondness seeping through every crevice of his heart. He can only look back at her, entranced by the spectacle of candlelight dancing in her dark irises.

_She's_  beautiful, he thinks, but forces his eyes to look away, back to the safe territory of Roland sitting behind a cake, blowing birthday candles.

"He is," Robin agrees, mouth stretching into a closed-lipped smile. "He takes after his mother."

Regina's shoulders fall at his words. She gazes down at her lap, wiggling her toes under the blanket, watching with rapt attention as the material stretches and creases with each movement of her foot. A shadow of regret has darkened her face.

Robin mentally curses himself for mentioning Marian. They'd been doing so well.

Regina drops the phone to the table, grabbing the book she'd taken out earlier, but she only pretends to read, her eyes not quite focused, as they usually are when she's captivated by the words on the page. Her wish to appear indifferent doesn't deceive him; he's spent over nine years learning her quirks.

He takes back his phone, gazing at Roland once last time before closing it, wishing his son a silent good night.

His eyes find themselves back on Regina when he's done, following the graceful line of her jaw, from her chin to her ear, then back down the slope of her nose.

She'd make a wonderful mother.

Despite the untimely moment, the thought sneaks into his mind like a flower breaking through the snow at the beginning of spring, and the next words are out of his mouth before he's had a chance to think them through.

"You know," he leans back against the couch, cradles his mug in his lap to give his hands something to do, "out of the two of us, I always thought you'd be the first to have children."

Regina stiffens, the muscles in her neck tensing. Her hands fidget where they rest on her book, keeping it open but barely, uncharacteristically quiet as she stares blindly at the dark TV screen, mind miles away from her living room.

The sudden change in her behaviour prompts Robin to move, his hand coming to rest gently on her knee. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," he whispers leaning forward, attempting to catch her gaze with his own.

She jumps at his touch and stands up, quick to get out, "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

With those words, Regina picks up her mug and book and exits the room in seconds, leaving Robin to wonder what kind of sensitive nerve he had inadvertently hit.

He waits a moment before following. Experience had taught him to give Regina space. Pushing her would only lead them to an argument. They've had their share of those; he'd rather keep Christmas on more friendly terms. (He also far prefers couch cushions to a snow bank when it comes to sleeping.)

One last, long sip of spiked eggnog for courage and Robin is up, heading towards the back of the house.

He finds Regina in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, next to a very expensive bottle of scotch.

Apparently, eggnog wasn't enough.

She's nursing her glass in silence when he approaches, doesn't even attempt to move when he settles across from her in the corner of the L-shaped counter. Another tumbler is set out on a coaster, scotch, neat – just the way he likes it – already poured, waiting for him.

She knew he'd come after her.

Regina remains mute, sipping at her drink until it's empty, then reaches for more. She pours herself another glass, setting down the bottle a tad forcefully once she's done, whether from the alcohol starting to numb her fingers or from the anger simmering inside her, Robin doesn't know.

She doesn't go for the drink just yet, though. She stays still, her side to him, one hand on the bottle, the other around her glass, and breathes heavily, in and out, eyes closed.

His stomachs twists and turns as she battles what he knows to be a wave of anxiety and, against his best judgement, he steps forward, hoping to help her the way he once did.

His hand moves to cover hers, slow enough so she sees it, so she can stop him if she wants.

She doesn't.

Fingers curling into her palm, he gently loosens her grip on the glass, until her hand in on the countertop, his resting gently atop of hers.

"Regina, talk to me," he breathes into her ear.

Her eyes roll, but she doesn't push him away.

His thumb rubs over her knuckles. "You know you can tell me anything." His voice means to be a soothing balm to the fragile nerves he's disturbed, but it pours gas on the fire that burns inside.

Regina spins towards him, his hand flying away as if burnt.

"Oh no!" she exclaims. "You don't get to do that!" Her eyes are lit up with anger, but the sentiment would be more believable if her voice didn't crack in her next sentence. "You don't get to come back here after seven years and pretend nothing happened!"

Robin lifts his hands in front of his stomach defensively. "I was only trying to help."

She scoffs, "I was doing fine on my own."

"Then why let me come?" he challenges, eyes not leaving hers. "If you wanted so badly to be alone, why did you agree to let me stay here?"

His next breath sticks in his throat, the air between them thickening. Her whole body is tensed with fury, hands fisted by her side, fighting back the unshed tears forming in her eyes.

They remain this way, two feet apart, staring at one another, until she gives, until her outrage simmers back down, leaving them both with the dull ache of their memories.

Her head ducks and she mutters under her breath, "I missed you."

"Come again?"

"I missed you, okay?!" Her temper flares anew, a self-defense trick he's seen many times, as her eyes travel up to meet his. "Happy?"

Robin shakes his head. "Regina… No. No, I'm not." He tries to remain cool-headed, despite her tangible agitation. "And I don't understand. Why didn't you ever say anything?"

She argues, "You went back to England!"

"That's not why we ended and you know it!" he shouts back, hating himself for escalating their argument, but he will  _not_  let her pin their break up on him.

She muffles a cry of rage. "You never gave me a chance to explain!"

"What's there to explain?" he questions rhetorically, giving her no time to answer. "I couldn't breathe, Regina. You were micromanaging everything!"

Her voice turns desperate as she loses the battle against her tears, droplets sliding down her cheeks. "I was scared!"

"Of what?!" he asks, incredulous. What hasn't she told him in  _seven years_  that will suddenly revolutionize the way he sees the end of their relationship?

She sniffles, fists clenched tight on either side of her body. "Of losing you!" she yells back, her whole body trembling.

Her face falls, then, ashamed, chin meeting her collarbone as she shakes her head, willing away the tears.

When she meets his eyes again, her shoulders move up and down and her voice breaks. "You proved me right."

She leaves the rooms before he can stop her, arm hanging mid-air as he tries to hold on to her hand.

Robin won't let her walk away this time.

He steps in after her, keeping the distance between them short. When they're back in the candlelit living room, she turns around, composed again.

"I asked, Regina," he reminds her before she has a chance to talk. "I asked and begged. I had my hand on the phone all the way to the airport, but you never said anything. One call from you and I would have turned down the position. I would have stayed in the States."

She swallows, visibly shaken by his words, but bites back, "Like you said, it's not why we ended."

Robin groans in frustration. "I never wanted it to end!"

Her hanging jaw closes rapidly, and he finds himself stared at by two glossy dark irises.

"You were controlling, Regina," he continues softly, a crooked and small but genuine smile hanging off his lips at the memories of their time together, "but I still loved you."

His admission has her breaking eye contact, derision meeting his mellowed tone. "Oh please, it's not as if you weren't ready to move on! It didn't take you long to find a replacement. And look at you now, happy, married," a hint of jealousy laces her voice, "father to an adorable little boy. I could never have given you that."

Nearly a full minute passes before Robin confesses, "I wanted it to be you." He keeps his voice low, counteracts her temper with calm, even though his heart has never beaten faster. "It could have been if you'd said something."

Regina's lashes fall shut and she shakes her head, breathes in and out, and in and out. When her eyes open again, they're unmasked, her soul laid bare and vulnerable before him.

"I'm infertile."

The confession is a dart that hits the bullseye, cutting through his chest like paper. Robin's heart sinks in his chest, hanging by but a tether to keep from drowning. It leaves him to ponder back on their discussion about Roland, on her odd behaviour. He'd thought his mentioning Marian was solely responsible for her withdrawal from the conversation, but he'd been wrong all along.

He stumbles for words, "Regina, I'm– I'm so sorry," but it seems that, too, is the wrong thing to say.

"I don't need you to be sorry," she defends. "It might have taken years of therapy, but I know now there's nothing wrong with me." She reigns in her tears, holds on to what little control she still possesses, and states proudly, "I have a wonderful godson, whom I love as my own. He's my whole world, and his mom is my best friend. They'd both be here tonight if it wasn't for the storm. I don't need anyone other than Henry in my life."

_Henry_. Robin glances down at the mug she's given him earlier, still set on the coffee table, at the name traced on the ceramic – not that of a man but of a child. It's all starting to make sense now.

"Go back to your wife, Robin," she spits with disdain, her sharp tongue doing a poor job of hiding the undertone of sadness in her voice, "and leave me alone."

_His wife_? "My wife?" he parrots, perplexed.

"Yes, your wife! Marian. Or have you already forgotten about her like you did about me?" she mocks him, hurt, but the joke's on her because she's apparently in the dark about the current state of his love life.

"Regina, I'm divorced."

The revelation shocks her at first. She stares at him in silence, and he can see the façade she'd built up around her heart partially coming down as his words begin to register. The veil of irritation lifts, confusion settles in, and Robin hurries to explain.

"We ended it four months after Roland was born. We took things too fast; we were never more than good friends." He rubs a hand at the back of his neck, massaging the tensed muscles of his nape. "When we finally faced the facts, it was just easier to let go of our pretend relationship and keep being friends. The only reason I called her," he remembers Regina's reaction to hearing the end of his conversation with his ex-wife, "is because I was supposed to pick up Roland tomorrow, and that's not happening as long as I'm here, so..." He trails off then, distracted by the play of emotions on her face.

Her scowl has migrated, leaving room for bottomless eyes – dark and precious, shining under the candlelight glow – and a partially opened mouth – kissable and lovely. Oh, how he wishes for a taste.

He can hear her mind reeling. The wires of her brain reorganize themselves, in need of different connections to adapt to this new information.

What happens next is beyond their control. A trick of nature itself.

Gravity changes its angle, exerting its pull horizontally and bringing them forward, desperate mouths meeting in the middle as the night's tension culminates into a kiss.

The touch of lips is tentative at first, nervous. He puts a foot forward and she meets him halfway – or she, then he, Robin isn't quite sure of the order of things. Her palms press lightly against his chest, his hand resting similarly at the dip of her waist. The space between them diminishes at a torturously slow pace – a breath of lust, a gasp of air – before the leap is fully taken and contact made for the first time after years of deprivation.

Their bodies teeter on the edge of undefined boundaries. Her lips are soft under his, warm, and Robin longs for more, for the taste of her, eggnog and scotch-filled as he guesses it to be, but he contents himself with the whiff of vanilla and pomegranate that reaches his nose, distinctively hers.

Regina's hands trail down his stomach and wrap around his back, erasing the remaining gap between their chests. Their hips bump clumsily, mouths slipping apart in the aftershock, a chuckle erupting between them.

Her laugh is bubbly and carefree, a silvery melody to Robin's ears.

They share a knowing glance, a quick inhale of oxygen before their lips crash together a second time, neither wanting to risk interruption for fear of stopping entirely.

The second kiss is much more audacious than the first. Robin's hands clasp and unclasp at her hips, Regina's travelling up and down his back. Her pelvis thrusting forward into his is no accident this time, and Robin takes it as his cue to seek entrance into her mouth, finding it open and waiting.

His tongue slides wetly against hers as he lets his hand wander further down and behind, over the curve of her rear. Her hands fists into his shirt, back in front of him, and when he gives her arse a light squeeze, she whimpers into his mouth, the sound making him press his lips hungrily against hers.

He's starving. And she's a feast of coveted sensations.

He brings one hand up to her jaw, caresses her cheek before weaving his fingers into her hair, brushing the dark locks out of her face. In the same movement, he angles her head to the side, his lips abandoning her mouth for a more intrepid quest, peppering kisses along her jawline, tongue licking playfully at the hollow behind her ear.

She gasps, and he smirks with pride, prolonging his attention on the winning spot.

Her head lolls back even more, her fists gone lax, but only for a moment. Soon, she's urging him back the way he came, claiming his mouth a third time, her hips grinding down into his.

Robin grunts in surprise and catches her on the second thrust, arms wrapping around her waist, securing her flush to his chest, every inch of his body hyper-aware of the proximity of her own.

He's all worked up now, but he hasn't come here tonight to have his way with her. No matter how much he wants to. (Oh God, how he wants to.)

He slows their pace to a languid enjoyment of each other, playful nips and licks until he finally has the necessary willpower to release her mouth completely. They separate but don't go far, hands loath to let go.

Robin rests his forehead against hers and breathes in, thumb stroking her cheekbone affectionately.

"I've missed you, too," he tells her in a hushed voice, echoing her words from earlier.

He feels her grin form under his finger and opens his eyes just in time to catch the graze of her teeth on her bottom lip. A bold hand sneaks down his stomach, finding the noticeable bulge in his pants and stroking him over the material of his jeans.

His moan is shameful, almost – guttural.

Regina's eyes gleam with pride and she smirks, "I think the words you're looking for are  _I want you_ ," giving him another pump to prove her point.

Robin pulls her hand away, weaving their fingers together and looking her square in the eyes, ignoring the flickers of pleasure she's sent coursing through him. His expression is serious. "This isn't what you asked for."

Her shoulders bob. "I was going to watch movies by myself all night. This is a step  _up_ ," she arches an eyebrow suggestively, eyes flicking down to where he is tenting against the denim, "don't you think?"

Robin lowers and shakes his head, but fails to hide the smile her inviting words have provoked.

Her free hand cups his cheek, bringing his eyes to level with hers, two darks pools of truth he'd dive in given the chance.

"I want you, too," she whispers, holding her breath, waiting for him to make the second move.

It seems his chance is here.

His mouth finds its way back to hers, his hands expertly slip the cardigan off her shoulders. Her fingers fumble with his shirt buttons, but before long they've stripped him of it, leaving him in a white undershirt and jeans, her in a fitted t-shirt and sweatpants. Still too many layers obstructing their respective goals.

Robin trails kisses down the line of her jaw again, stops and swirls his tongue in that spot that makes her weak in the knees. He doesn't stay in place long, though, moving down the column of her neck and tasting her clavicle, nipping then soothing her collarbone with tongue and kisses. His thumbs hook around the waistband of her sweats and he follows as he tugs them down her legs, revealing lacy black underwear that makes his already rapid heartbeat accelerate. As Regina assists in getting rid of the item of clothing, kicking it off somewhere behind her, Robin drops a kiss to her hip, unable to resist a sample of the previously hidden skin.

Without warning, he picks her up, a surprised noise leaving her throat, somewhere between a squeal and a gasp. He carries her over to the couch, sitting down first and then letting her reposition herself above him until she's content. He's snug between her legs when she's done, and it takes him a moment to adjust to her weight above him, though it's nothing unpleasant – quite the contrary, in fact.

Reveling in the sensations of this new position, they go back to kissing for a bit, taking turns to explore each other's skin.

Shirts, and Regina's bra, come off speedily, allowing Robin to finally palm her breasts. He alternates between twirling and sucking the already stiff peaks, regaling himself with the moans that tumble eagerly out of her mouth with his ministrations. It only takes a minute for Regina to start rocking her hips, and then only a couple more before Robin is gasping, groaning, muscles taut and begging for release.

He pushes her off him, hushes her protest with a kiss. "I won't last if you keep this up," he explains, and her hooded gaze watches him, following his every movement as he kneels down in front of the sofa.

His fingers reach for underwear, dragging the dainty piece of clothing down her thighs, mouth following the course of his hands all the way to her ankle. He kisses his way up the other leg, telling her midway to scoot forward for him.

She does so, already breathing heavily with expectation.

Robin nudges his nose against the inside of one thigh, then the other, smirking mischievously. He inches closer and closer, but never quite touches her where she's aching and begging for it.

"Robin," Regina warns, frustration and need lacing her voice, and he thinks no sound in the universe could rival this one, that of his lover completely at his mercy, wanting him, asking for him.

Her mouth opens again, but he doesn't give her time to reprimand him a second time, giving her one long stroke of his tongue from entrance to clit. Her breathing falters, and he smiles smugly before returning his attention to his task: sucking, licking, nipping, until she's babbling incoherently and cursing his name, fingers grasping his hair, and  _fuck_ , she's so wet _._

She pulls him up before he has a chance to get her off, tugging him forward to capture his lips. After a few passes of her tongue, she answers his silent question, "I want to come with you inside me."

Robin nods, giving her another searing kiss before standing up.

Together, they relieve him of the confines of his jeans. Regina lays back as he finishes undressing, ogling his naked form, eyes even darker now that they're veiled with desire.

He crawls over her and presses his chest to hers, savouring the warmth of her skin against his own. Her hand finds him easily, wrapping around his length and giving him a few strokes even though there's no need. He's rock-hard already.

She guides him to her entrance, and  _shit!_  He breaks the kiss abruptly, breathing laboured, and she stops moving, too, looking up at him with a confused and slightly crossed expression.

Robin reassures her with a kiss, one that gets a little carried away – who could blame them, wound tight and ready as they are – before tearing his mouth away again, managing to pant out, "Condom?"

Regina's head falls back against the cushions and she throws a defeated glance towards the staircase, catching her breath as she comes to a decision. Her eyes are soon back on his, tongue darting out to wet her lips. "I'm still clean," she states between pants, voice rising in a question at the end of her sentence.

Robin acquiesces, "Me too," and she nods back, words futile now that necessities are out of the way.

Once his body is nestled comfortably between her legs, he aligns himself with her, a hiss of delight leaving his lips as he sinks slowly, effortlessly into her. One torturous inch at a time, he becomes one with her, and her arms wind around his neck, legs around his waist, tugging him closer.

Unhurried, Robin takes her mouth, tangles their tongues, enjoying the snug warmth of her and how delicious she feels around him.

Regina, as it turns out, has other plans.

She digs her heel into his back, urging him to move. With a husky chuckle, he pulls back until only the tip of him remains in contact with her and then pushes forward, her hips meeting his at a leisurely pace. Delicious noises rumble at the back of her throat each time he fills her, sending a jolt of pride down his body.

God, she's marvelous. Absolutely, bloody marvelous.

Why had they let years slip away from their grasp? They could have had this, each other. All this time, they could have spent it together, if their stubbornness hadn't gotten the better of them.

This isn't enough, Robin realizes.

He wants to watch her. To see her as she comes apart in his arms.

Pulling back from the temptation of her lips, he peers down at her face, the candlelight in the room giving her olive skin a lovely orange glow.

He uses his elbows for support, careful not to crush her, as he changes the angles of his thrusts until he finds the one that has her lashes falling shut, earning him a loud, appreciative whimper.

He redoubles his efforts then, works on that spot until she's a mess of  _yes_  and  _hmmm_ and  _fuck, Robin!_  He savours every sound of pleasure coming from her, worships every inch of her skin with his gaze. To him, she's never been more beautiful than she is now: eyes screwed shut, sweat glistening above her brow, skin flushed and warm to the touch.

His hand sneaking between their bodies next, rubbing tight circles at the apex of her thighs; his mouth to her ear, whispering, "Come for me," is all it takes for her to tumble over the edge, rhythm faltering as she buckles underneath him. Robin prolongs her releases – she's a vision of exquisite, wanton beauty he's not ready to let go – thrusting deeply into her, again and again and again, until he can't anymore.

He spills into her with a groan, his body going rigid as white flashes behind his eyelids, before he collapses on top of her, spent.

Everything around them stills.

When he finally opens his eyes, Robin finds Regina staring up at him with muted adoration and he smiles, stealing a lazy kiss from her lips. Brushing her hair out of her face, he caresses her brow, her cheek, committing every detail of her face to memory.

Their breathing has slowed considerably by the time she musters the courage to speak. "So…" she trails off, fingers tracing nervous patterns on his chest, "what now?"

_What now?_  Indeed.

Robin traps her hand in his own and brings it to his lips, kissing her knuckles reassuringly. Dark irises follow his movements and travel from their joined hands to his eyes, seeking refuge in the safety of his gaze.

He hates the worry clouding her face – wishes he could step back in time and prevent it from ever taking root.

When he catches a glimpse of his watch, Robin smirks.

"Merry Christmas," he says to the space between them, locking gazes with her.

Regina stretches to glance at his wrist, confirming for herself what he'd just realized: the hands indicate twenty minutes into Christmas.

Robin wriggles playfully between her legs and declares, "This is much better than a cramped flight to Heathrow."

His words succeed in getting a laugh out of her, momentarily chasing away her concerns. It's a small thing, barely a chuckle, but a laugh nonetheless, and he'll take this small victory after all the losses they've suffered. This is more than enough for tonight.

With no real force, she shoves his shoulder away from her. "Stop being so smug," she tells him sternly, but to no effect, her authority somewhat impaired by his length still buried to the hilt inside her.

"How can I, when I have the world's most beautiful woman in my arms?" Robin flirts, earning himself a classic Regina eye roll.

She swats his chest harder this time, making him slip out of her. "Be serious," she warns, though her mirthful gaze gives her away.

He plays along, "My most sincere apologies,  _m'lady_."

Regina freezes at the nickname, wide-eyed and lips slightly parted. ( _It's archaic!_  she'd complain every time he used it, but the half-smile on her face told him she secretly liked his gentlemanly conduct.) Robin bites his tongue, suddenly nervous. Being with her feels so natural – right, it feels  _right_  – he'd reverted back to old habits without realizing it.

But, contrary to his fears, she's not upset. Far from it.

The sight of her face melting into a smile has a breath of relief escape his lungs. He drops a kiss to her hair, whispers, "Come here," in her ear, and moves off her, offering his hand as he stands to help her up.

They move cushions and blankets around, creating for themselves a little cocoon on her living room floor. Once they're satisfied with the comfort level it'll provide, they lie together in their nest, enjoying the warmth of each other's skin. Blankets are drawn to their waist, Regina's head resting on his chest as he skims his fingers up and down her arm, her own tracing idle patterns on his skin.

It's peaceful, quiet. He listens to her breathing, every slow intake and expel of air, and revels in the satisfaction of knowing that after all these years, her heart still beats as strongly for him as his for her.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into the night, moving his hand to brush down her hair.

Her fingers stop moving and she shifts to lie on her stomach, half on top of him, chin resting right next to his heart. She frowns at his words, and Robin simply smiles, brushing her hair back, hand sliding down her body, stilling below her shoulder blade.

"I'm sorry for what I said seven years ago," he explains softly.

Regina shakes her head. "It's not your fault. I  _was_  a little difficult to live with."

Robin brushes his thumb on her temple. "Maybe, but I prided myself on knowing you better than anyone else. I should have known it wouldn't end well if I confronted you directly."

Her eyes fall down, gaze lost somewhere in the region of his chin. "It never really ended…"

His lips turn up a notch, but despite her reassuring words, he keeps going with the same serious tone. He's messed this up once; he can't lose her a second time. "And I should have known you'd never ask me to stay – especially after how poorly I handled that first conversation – but I… I was desperate." She looks up at that, curious, though shame still clouds her eyes. The hand resting on her back starts moving slowly, a small up and down caress as he confesses, "I didn't want to lose you either."

Regina smiles, drops a kiss next to his heart.

"You haven't lost me," she assures and stretches her arm, the back of her hand landing on his cheek, a tender touch, meant to soothe. "I'm sorry, too."

He takes that hand in his and kisses first the palm, then her knuckles, pulling a contented sigh from her as she drops her head back to his chest. He starts a gentle massage of her hand, applying a little pressure on her palm, then her fingers, squeezing gently, but not to hurt. When he reaches her ring finger, his movements falter, then stop. His gaze turns contemplative as he brushes his thumb against the joint.

He senses her eyes on him again.

"I had a ring picked, you know?"

Her short intake of breath fills the silence and Robin hears the alarm bells going off in her head.

He hurries to add, "I don't have it anymore," and she exhales loudly, tension leaving her body promptly, her weight sinking back into him. "I got a refund before I left."

His words have the desired effect to calm her down, but her gaze lingers, her beautiful mind working hard to figure out where he's going with this.

"Breathe, love," he tells her affectionately, dropping her hand. "I'm not proposing."

"Then, what  _are_  you doing?"

The hand he had stroking her back stills. "What do you mean?"

"This," she starts and sighs. "This was amazing." They share a knowing smile, bodies still pleasantly achy even if cooling down. "But it changes nothing. You still live in England; I'm here."

Robin  _ahhs_  and nods, palm moving up and around her shoulder, gliding down her arms. He motions for her to sit and follows her up, waits until he has her full attention before speaking.

"I'll never ask you to uproot yourself, Regina," he reassures, squeezing her hands lightly. "I know how much your job means to you, and your godson lives in this city. I'd be quite the heartless man if I forced you to leave who and what you love behind."

Moisture gathers in her eyes, and she hums a small, "Thank you," clutching back at his hands.

"But please consider visiting?" he asks, and can't help how enthusiastic his following words sound. "You can meet Roland officially. And I can bring him over during the summer. We can still see each other. What do you say?"

She nods. "I'd like that."

"Okay." He drops a peck to her lips and drags her back down to the cushions with him, covering their naked bodies with blankets. She curls against his chest and he pulls her to him, whispering softly, "We'll figure it out. Together."

She bobs her head again and sniffles, snuggling closer into his embrace.

Future uncertain but insecurities appeased, they slowly drift off to sleep.

**::**

They hold on to their promise. They visit.

Regina comes to London first, spends a whole month at his place. They play tourists, he takes her on expensive dates – Robin insists he has to woo her all over again – and she babysits Roland when he's at work and Marian's busy or wants a break. His son grows rather fond of her, and Regina of him. Robin also surprises the two women hanging out together on more than one occasion, Marian giving him a wink of approval after just her first meeting with Regina.

She fits into his life seamlessly, but it's  _his_  only. She has to leave, go back to Boston where her life is.

_Theirs_  doesn't exist yet.

He visits during the summer, brings Roland on his first trip across the pond. There, he meets Emma and shakes Henry's hand, the boy alarmingly protective of his godmother. Robin seems to pass the test, though, because he soon finds himself invited over for video game night, him and Henry teaching Roland the ropes while Emma and Regina watch over them from the kitchen table.

He gifts her plane tickets for the one-year anniversary of their reunion. Arrangements are made for Emma and Henry to come along, and the six of them – Emma, Henry, Regina, Roland, Marian and himself – spend Christmas together, laughing and cheering and ripping wrapping paper, an eclectic mix of people that somehow just  _works_.

Life is bliss when they're together, hell when they're apart. Driving her back to the airport on January 3 feels like a cold hand wrapped around his heart and squeezing the life out of him. There are tears welling up her eyes from the moment they leave the house, and he's not faring any better, trying to keep his vision clear long enough to drive her safely to her destination (and him back to his house). Nerve-wracking goodbyes are said; hugs last until the final call for her plane is made.

They part at the gate and Robin goes home, a shell of the man he was over the Holidays.

He thought having Regina back in his life, in any capacity, would be better than living the rest of his life wondering about what ifs, but he'd been a fool. A hopeful – hopeless – fool who had doomed himself to be reminded, every time she visits, that every other woman pales in comparison to Regina Mills.

He reaches for the bottle of scotch as soon as his keys are dropped with a clunk to the table, eternally thankful that Roland is at Marian's for the night.

**::**

It's late when the doorbell rings.

Or at least, it feels like it is.

Robin grunts as the red glare beside his bed morphs into numbers. 0:23. Who the hell is making a house call twenty-three minutes past midnight?

When it rings a second time, he has no choice but to extract himself out of bed and pad down the stairs, though his short trek to the lobby hasn't prepared him for what awaits him on the other side of the door. His heart skips a beat as soon as their eyes meet.

"Regina?"

For a few brief seconds, he fears his tired brain is playing tricks on him. He'd driven her to the airport hours ago; she was supposed to be on her flight back to Boston. But the bite of the nightly breeze finishes to wake him up, and it is most certainly  _her_  standing on his doorstep, hair and shoulders sprinkled with snowflakes.

"H– How?" is all he manages to babble.

She hesitates for a moment, hands clasping in front of her, fidgety fingers markers of her rattled nerves. She inhales sharply and explains on exhale, "I couldn't bring myself to board the plane."

Robin's eyes widen, heart thumping faster and faster inside his ribcage. She cannot be saying what he thinks she's saying. There has to be another explanation.

"But… what about your job? What about Henry?" he asks.

Regina chuckles nervously. "This is his idea, actually." She brings one shoulder up to her ear then down. "He thinks it'd be pretty cool to have a godmother who lives in England."

_Lives_.

"And I'll call into the office tomorrow, see about getting a transfer."

She's still talking, filling the silence because he's not moving, talking about how she's thought this through and has all these plans, but all he hears is  _who lives in England_ , over and over again.

She's chosen to stay.

Robin stumbles out of his house, stepping bare-socked feet into the thin layer of snow. Framing her jaw with his hands, he crashes his mouth against hers, the kiss rapidly taking a messy turn due to the two matching grins stretching their faces. He abandons her mouth to envelop her in a hug, buries his face in her hair and breathes her in, her own icy nose hiding from the crisp winter air in the crook of his neck.

They stay outside long enough for the snow to soak his socks fully, for his toes to be numbed by the cold, but Robin can't bring himself to care.

He's got Regina in his arms now, again and forever.

Frozen feet seem like a small price to pay for the reignited fire in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my contribution to the absolutely fantastic Outlaw Queen advent calendar. You can find other entries at onceuponanadvent over on Tumblr. :)


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